


red mead

by discopolice



Category: Fate/Grand Order
Genre: Gen, Girls' Night, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-01-04
Updated: 2019-01-04
Packaged: 2019-10-03 22:40:27
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,294
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17292755
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/discopolice/pseuds/discopolice
Summary: At this point, it’s easier for him to go along with it.





	red mead

Mead is ordinarily too sweet for Lord El-Melloi II. He’s more the sort for oaky spirits – the type distilled until it burns the throat, aged in a wooden cask for twenty years, then forgotten about in someone’s desk drawer for another twenty. He has a taste for cheap whiskey that some might call an acquired taste, but some others might call Stockholm syndrome. Either way, alcohol that’s too sweet usually just makes his head ache. 

He drinks Medb’s mead primarily for two reasons: one, because it’s on easy offer with Medb being right next door; two, because it knocks him on his ass, and there are things he’d like to forget.

“It’s okay, you can admit it,” Medb says. She is sitting in silk pajamas on El-Melloi II’s floor with a cup of red mead in her right hand. El-Melloi II sits at the foot of his bed in a T-shirt and boxers, his third cup of mead in his own hand, like they’re high school girls having a sleepover. Aside from one of them being a 30-year-old man, and the both of them being Servants trapped at the end of the world, it’s not that far from the truth.

“From an objective standpoint, yes, he’s attractive,” El-Melloi II says, “but I don’t see the interest otherwise.”

“Even if his dick is really big? Because it is.” Medb curls her fingers into a circle, where her middle finger doesn’t touch her thumb.

El-Melloi II extends his index finger as if to make a point, then lowers his hand when he realizes he doesn’t have a further objection. It’s really been _forever._

“ _Ahaha,_ Caster, you’re so dirty-minded,” Medb says. El-Melloi II resists the urge to point out that _Medb_ brought the whole dick-size thing into the conversation, and he would have been perfectly happy to know nothing of Cu Alter’s penis at all. “Come on! There are plenty of men I’d be happy to share with a good-looking guy like you.”

“Because you’re getting so much,” El-Melloi II drones, mouth half-full of mead.

Medb knows neither of them are getting _anything,_ but if she pretends she’s getting something, it’ll materialize, right? No, no, that’s not how her magic works.

“But oh, you’re saving yourself for that _Is~kan~dar~_ you won’t tell your friend Queen Medb anything about, aren’t you,” Medb says, to a sharp raise of El-Melloi II’s eyebrows.

“You want to know?” It’s odd, having someone take genuine interest in his life before he was - ‘was’ - Zhuge Liang. Furthermore, he’s not sure his words will do Iskandar proper justice; he has more presence than the history books could ever portray, more raw honor than El-Melloi II could ever hope to have. He’s not sure the words will come easily, or that he’ll have many of them.

But Medb does want to know. It takes a moment of thought to fish the words from the sea of red mead that is his brain at the moment, but--

“I was his Master, but in reality, he was my king,” El-Melloi II says. He can’t hide the softness in his voice; even if he tried, the mead would get in his way. “Strong, yet always fair; just as willing to negotiate as to fight. That was Iskandar, the King of Conquerors.” He doesn’t have to say he misses Rider; it’s evident enough in the way his voice wavers at the end.

“He sounds wonderful, like a conqueror should be,” Medb says. Her eyes are practically sparkling as she leans forward over her knees. “When our Master summons him, I guess I couldn’t convince you to share?”

El-Melloi II doesn’t dignify that with an answer. The idea of sharing Iskandar makes him want to hiss; the idea of sharing any man with _Medb_ is even worse. He tries to muster an unimpressed look, but the skew of his eyebrows comes across as more scandalized.

“Boo. All the strong men in the world are mine,” she says, as though it’s a fact. “But if I have to leave you _one…_ ”

“How kind of you,” El-Melloi II says dryly.

“That’s right,” Medb says. There’s a giggle in her throat that’s not quite escaping. “Praise me - the powerful, yet generous Queen Medb.”

At this point, it’s easier for him to go along with it.

–

Waver Velvet – Lord El-Melloi II, now, but to some people he is still Waver – hates being told he can’t do something. He hates it even more when he tells _himself_ he can’t do something, and the restlessness makes him need to push his own boundaries into oncoming traffic. When Iskandar is summoned, when Romani and Gudako lead him back to meet the rest of their motley crew, it brings a rush of those feelings back: of feeling small and overwhelmed, yet determined to take on whatever comes at him, like a Chihuahua bristling and yapping at a black bear.

Untying Iskandar’s armor to find his massive, erect dick elicits many of those same emotions.

Waver needs to suck Iskandar off like he needs air, but it’s been a few years, and he isn’t quite sure where to start. He’s given head to one of the dildos he keeps under his bed to keep himself sharp – okay, maybe it’s been more than a few years – but a twitching, living member is different than one made out of silicone. It was like this, too, when he’d gotten Iskandar to let him suck him off that first time – he’d wondered _how will this fit?_ But if Waver Velvet stopped trying to do things he was certain he couldn’t do, he wouldn’t have met Iskandar at all, so clearly he did something right.

(Those same unsure feelings came across him when Iskandar first fucked him, too, or when he first allowed himself to be tied up, or when he first discovered he liked being choked a little bit. Don’t judge him; he judges himself enough for the rest of the world, too.)

Iskandar, patient king he is, waits with only a raised eyebrow while Waver spends the next 20 seconds staring at his prick.

“It is as you remembered?” Iskandar says, finally breaking the silence. Waver knows Iskandar doesn’t mean to tease, but his tone is so light that it makes him want to whack Iskandar on the thigh. He settles for a petulant look instead.

“What the hell kind of question is that? Of course it is,” Waver says. The voice of his king – his teammate, now, his friend, his lover (!) - gives him the strength to bend forward, kissing open-mouthed at the tip of Iskandar’s cock. With lips against the glans, he continues, “It’s just huge.”

Iskandar’s pleased with that, enough to murmur a word of appreciation under his breath and card thick fingers through Waver’s hair.

“It is yours, if you will it,” Iskandar says. Waver flushes red, thinks _I love you too,_ but doesn’t say it; instead, he takes Iskandar down his throat as deep as he’ll go. It’s interesting, feeling so powerful and yet so powerless.

–

He and Iskandar go to breakfast hand in hand – his hand doesn’t feel quite as small in Iskandar’s as it did a decade ago, nor is their height difference so striking, but it’s still enough to remind El-Melloi II that he’s bedding a Servant. (He’s a servant, too, now. Shit. You don’t get _used_ to that.) It’s enough to calm him, too, down the cold hallways of Chaldea at the end of the world--

A messy head of pink hair pokes itself out of the next door over, and El-Melloi II realizes he forgot to pull his bed away from their adjoining wall. _Fuck._

“ _Ooohhh_ , _finally,_ ” Medb croons.

At this point, it’s easier for him to go along with it.


End file.
